


How to Train your (Sometimes) Dragon

by wishingonafeather



Series: The Dragon and his Blogger [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Being all domestic, Dragonlock, Fluff, Smauglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingonafeather/pseuds/wishingonafeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John finds out Sherlock's secret, life returns almost to normal at Baker Street</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Train your (Sometimes) Dragon

"Sherlock, I swear to God, if I find one more body part in the kettle I'm throwing it out and I don't care how 'important' it is." John was pissed off. That much was obvious. Ever since he had found out about his flatmate's ability to shift into a 50 foot dragon, Sherlock seemed to be doing everything in his power to annoy him. Sherlock also seemed to spend a ridiculous amount of time in a sort of half-way point between his two different forms; John had lost count of the number of times he had narrowly escaped being hit on the head by a wing or tripping over Sherlock's tail.

Having a dragon did have its perks though. When chasing down criminals it was much easier to catch them is Sherlock took a more aerial approach, and any fleeing suspect is a lot more likely to cooperate when there is about 10 tons of dragon standing over them. Even so, occasionally they would try and fight back. On one memorable occasion involving a series of burglaries, the most recent resulting in a double homicide when the thief found the owners were still there, the man had shifted into a lion, and had nearly taken a chunk out of Sherlock's wing. The resulting wound had taken John at least 20 stitches to close and nearly a month to heal completely. Another one of their biological advantages - they healed a hell of a lot faster than most of John's usual patients.

"John." Sherlock called from the living room. "Can you lend me a hand for a second?" He sounded grumpy, and john could easily see why. Somehow, Sherlock had succeeded in tangling his wings rather thoroughly in the blanket that John had draped over him when he crashed after their last case. John stifled a laugh at the put-out expression on Sherlock's face.  
"Yes, John, highly amusing. My wings, if you could be so kind." John pulled at the offending article until Sherlock's wings were once again free. He spread them wide, the leathery appendages reaching almost from one wall to the other.

"You know, if you didn't keep them out all the time then you wouldn't get them caught in things. The same goes for your tail - it's only going to get stood on one of these days." John let out a small sigh - yet another battle that was lost before it even begun. The kettle boiled and John returned to his tea making. It had been only 2 days since their last case and Sherlock was already showing signs of the restless and occasionally destructive behaviour that came from Sherlock's many fits of boredom. After John had hidden his gun for the hundredth time, Sherlock had instead resorted to using small fire-balls as projectiles instead. It was a miracle that the flat hadn't already burnt down.

John handed Sherlock his mug and took a seat on the sofa in front of the TV next to Sherlock. Absent-mindedly, he began to stroke the wing resting around the back of the sofa between his thumb and fore-finger. He was about to stop when Sherlock let out a sound that could only be described as a purr and leaned his head against john's shoulder. It was common knowledge that in their animal form that shifters could adopts some of the personality traits linked to their animal. Luckily for John, this only seemed to go as far as hoarding pretty much any scrap of information that crossed his path. It looked like this was something else to add to the list.

They remained like this until John's stomach began to complain. Slowly, he eased the now dozing Sherlock off of him and went to forage in the fridge. After coming up empty handed (ok, there had been some bits and pieces but they were a bit too close to the severed head Sherlock had recently acquired) he picked up the phone.  
"Sherlock, I'm ordering Chinese. Do you want anything?" There was an indistinct mumble that John took for a 'Yes', and dialled the nearest take-away. Sherlock was awake now, and was playing with a small ball of fire that he had just spat out.

"Please put that out Sherlock. I'd rather not have to douse you with the fire extinguisher again". Now that had been a memorable afternoon. John had returned from his shift at the surgery to find Sherlock in the kitchen performing yet another one of his ridiculous experiments; only instead of a Bunsen burner, he was using his own fire. Sherlock had jumped when John made himself known, and suddenly the kitchen table and Sherlock's dressing gown were on fire. Without thinking, John had yanked the extinguisher off the wall (that he had purchased just after discovering his flatmates more pyrokinetic talents) and covered Sherlock from head to foot in foam. The result, once the shock had worn off, was a hysterical John clutching his sides in mirth at the sight of Sherlock looking more like a disgruntled snowman than anything else. It had almost been worth the clean-up afterwards. John smiled at the memory.

"Really John, did you have to bring that up again?" Sherlock said, exasperated. He put out the miniature sun all the same. John cleared a space of experiments at the table, giving it a thorough wipe-down after Sherlock had decided it was a good idea to test the effects of various brands of bleach on human livers. It was a miracle neither of them had been accidentally poisoned. Just as he was pulling out plates and cutlery, the doorbell rang.

"Don't bother to move your scaly arse then Sherlock. I'll get it." John noticed out of the corner of his eyes as Sherlock folded his wings until they disappeared into his back and the tail shrank to nothing. He paid the delivery boy and returned with a bag of steaming hot food.

"You're not on a case Sherlock. So you are going to eat something if I have to feed you myself. I would imagine that there's some form of energy debt what with the amount of energy it takes for you to shift. Don't lie to me; I've seen how exhausted you can get after shifting back from your dragon. " Sherlock rolled his eyes, but still accepted a plate of chow mein without any fuss. Just then, Sherlock phone vibrated violently and Sherlock's eyes lit up. John groaned. Was it too much to ask for to have a quiet night in? He eyed Sherlock.

"Not until you've eaten something. I don't care how interesting it is, it'll just have to wait." John doubted that he'd ever seen Sherlock eat that fast as he proceeded to inhale the food in front of him.

"It looks' like the game is back on John!" And in a flurry of coat tails he sprinted out the door. John cursed under his breath and ran after him, barely remembering to lock the door behind them


End file.
